


Italianate Architecture and Other Revelations

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Gen, MFMM Year of Quotes, Tea, Unexpected Visitors, Unexpected family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17079062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: “I was his first arrest, didya know that?”“I did,” Phryne said. “But I’m afraid I don’t know the specifics. I’ve never been able to pry that particular story out of him.”Elsie laughed. “Well, no wonder. Our poor Jackie boy don’t come off so well.”“Oh?” Phryne leaned forward, her curiosity most definitely piqued. She crossed her legs  and rested her chin on her hand, propped up at the knee. “Do tell.”Inspired by the December Quote Challenge.





	Italianate Architecture and Other Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> As a December amnesty fic, I had the option to choose any quote from the previous eleven months. But, as Hans Gruber says in the greatest Christmas movie of all time, _“It's Christmas, Theo, it's the time of miracles. So be of good cheer and call me when you hit the last lock.”_ And in that spirit, I have chosen _two_ quotes as inspiration for this story.
>
>> “Kindred spirits alone do not change with the changing years.” L.M. Montgomery, _Anne of the Island_
>> 
>> “His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.” Jane Austen, _Persuasion_  
> .
> 
> So be of good cheer and happy holidays! :-)
> 
> P.S. I gift wrap a million thanks to Sarahtoo for her excellent beta read and exceptional support, both of which were very much appreciated.

She heard the knock from the parlour, of course, but as Phryne wasn’t expecting any visitors, and as Mr. B was closer anyway, she elected to continue reading her novel instead of rushing to answer it. She heard voices in the hall and then a moment later her butler’s quiet knock on the parlour doors.

“Come in,” Phryne called, sighing and putting the book aside. It seemed her date with Mrs Woolf would have to wait.

Mr Butler opened the door and stepped through to speak. “A Mrs Elizabeth Tizzard to see you, miss.”

The woman in question then barreled past him into the room, not waiting for a response or an invitation.

“Oh it’s fine, no need to stand on ceremony. She can just call me Elsie, same as everybody.”

And with that, Elsie Tizzard took a seat in Phryne Fisher’s parlour.

Phryne was momentarily taken aback, but as that was the entire length of time Phryne ever let herself be taken anywhere she didn’t want to be, she rallied quickly.

“Thank you, Mr Butler. Perhaps some tea and sandwiches?” Then she turned to her unexpected guest and, smiling, glided into the seat opposite Elsie.

“Very good, miss,” Mr Butler said before turning away and leaving the women alone.

There was silence for a moment as Elsie looked around and took in first the room, and then the lady sitting before her. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in obvious assessment of her surroundings.

“Nice place you got here.”

“Thank you, I like it.”

“Nicer than mine. Course that ain’t hard,” Elsie said with a laugh, and Phryne was pleased to hear actual humor in it. Elsie was clearly not the kind of person to begrudge another woman’s good fortune. “You been here long?”

“About four years now, except for about six months in the middle.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, unfortunately I had to take my father home to England. Otherwise there was a very good chance he wouldn’t have made the trip.” Phryne kept her tone carefully neutral as she said it - it had been years now, but let out of its cage, her frustration at her father’s selfishness still managed to make her see red. And really there was no need to subject innocent bystanders to that.

“Infirm or just infantile?” Elsie asked, and it was Phryne’s turn to laugh.

“The latter, I’m afraid.”

“How do you tell him apart from other men, then?”

“Well, I do know a _few_ good ones,” Phryne replied with dry good humor.

“Like Jack,” Elsie said.

“Like Jack,” Phryne agreed. “Can I assume that’s why you’re here, Elsie? Jack?”

“Mmmmm.” Elsie’s hum was noncommittal as she looked around the room again, seemingly distracted. When she turned her eyes back to Phryne, they appeared to twinkle with amusement.

“I was his first arrest, didya know that?”

“I did,” Phryne said. “But I’m afraid I don’t know the specifics. I’ve never been able to pry that particular story out of him.”

Elsie laughed. “Well, no wonder. Our poor Jackie boy don’t come off so well.”

“Oh?” Phryne leaned forward, her curiosity most definitely piqued. She crossed her legs and rested her chin on her hand, propped up at the knee. “Do tell.”

“It was...1912? I think. It was before the War, I know, ’cause my man was still with us. I was cookin’ at a cafe off Clarendon Street, and one day, this regular got a little handsy after he'd had a bit more beer than he should. Bloody octopus he was, when he was drinkin’, and I don’t know why, but that day I didn’t feel like takin’ his bunk so I hit him with my fry pan.”

Phryne sat up in surprise. “And Jack arrested you for that?”

“Well…,” Elsie said with small shrug. “I might have hit him more than the once. And I _might_ have followed him into the street with it.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow and smiled, nodding in distinct appreciation - if not outright approval - of the older woman’s methods. 

“So there I am in the middle of the street with my fry pan and this bugger screamin’ bloody murder and who shows up but Constable Jack Robinson. All shiny-buttoned and bushy-tailed. Comes ’round the corner, takes in the scene and freezes, completely stunned.” Elsie made a face in demonstration that reminded Phryne so much of Hugh Collins when she’d first met him that she actually snorted. She tried to cover it with a cough, but Elsie gave her a knowing look and continued her story.

“Yeah, you know, he was nothin’ more than a lamb back then, totally outta his depth. But he knows he needs to do _somethin’_ , right? So when he finally remembers how to move his feet, he comes chargin’ at us, but I’m not really mindin’ him and his head _just_ misses a collision with my pan. So there’s the three of us - me with my pan, the octopus hollerin’, and poor Jackie, just sputterin’ away and trying to avoid a direct hit.” Elsie covered her face with one arm and started blindly grabbing for the imaginary pan with the other in an impression of young Constable Robinson so farcical it made Phryne cover her own mouth to prevent more laughter from escaping. 

“Well he _finally_ gets my pan away, but he still can’t figure out what’s happenin’ so he decides to just arrest us both. But he’s so nervous he can’t focus - looks at me, then the bloke, then me again. Drops his darbys _twice_ ’cause he’s still holding the fry pan for some reason.” Elsie shrugged and shook her head, clearly still as bewildered by it twenty years on as she had been that day. Then she smiled, small and sincere.

“But even then I could tell he was one of the good ones, ya know, and he was tryin’ his best, so eventually I took pity and just handcuffed myself so he could focus on the fella.” At this, Phryne let out what could only be described as a cackle and Elsie winked before continuing her story. 

“Jackie thanks me, real quiet, and then takes the three of us - me, the octopus, and my fry pan - all back to the station.” Elsie folded her hands and smiled. “And that, Miss Fisher, is the story of Jack Robinson’s first arrest, though the charges were eventually dropped.” She shrugged again. “Too much paperwork apparently.”

As Elsie finished her story, Phryne’s body was shaking with silent laughter, the image of Jack as such a tenderfoot more than even her highly developed sense of decorum could bear. As she wiped a tear from her eye, she tried to catch her breath to respond. “Yes, yes I can see why he might not tell that story too often,” she remarked, trying and failing to keep a straight face in the aftermath of her laughter.

Elsie was grinning too, but then her expression shifted to something more thoughtful. “Maybe, maybe he learned from it though? To look past the surface of a situation, I mean. See the heart of the matter. _Somethin’_ taught him that anyway. ‘Cause he’s the nicest copper I ever met. Always willin’ to listen, ya know? And I like to think maybe I helped with that, a bit.”

Phryne nodded, slightly surprised at the insight and growing fonder of Elsie Tizzard by the minute. 

“I believe you may be right, Elsie.”

“Anyway,” Elsie continued, “Jackie must’ve felt bad about it either way, ‘cause he came back the next week to see how I was gettin’ on. That mighta been the end of it, but while he was there I served him up one of my pie floaters.” Elsie's face shone with pride then, her chin lifting and her smile wide. “Said they were the best he ever had.”

_Ah,_ Phryne thought, amused, _there it is._ One day she would hear a story about Jack Robinson that didn’t involve food. It seemed today was not that day.

“He came back pretty regular after that,” Elsie continued, “right up until he shipped out. Once he got back… I didn’t see him much, not at first. I wasn’t workin’ at the cafe anymore and things got kinda hard for me and my Matty after his dad died.” She fidgeted with the worn cuffs of her dress then, the memory of that time still clearly upsetting. She took a deep breath and continued.

“But eventually our paths crossed - some skirmish about the rent I think - and then they kept on crossin’. Mostly I saw him at the station, but a few times he took me out for tea when he was off duty. And when I had the ingredients, I invited him up for pie floaters, which he still says are the best he’s ever had.” Elsie leaned in conspiratorially. “My secret,” she said, lowering her voice, “is malt vinegar.”

Phryne smiled, then tilted her head slightly and softly asked the question she’d been thinking since Mr Butler had announced her unexpected guest. “Elsie, why are you here?”

“So yesterday,” Elsie continued as though Phryne had not spoken, “I went down to the registrar’s with my neighbor, Poppy Perkins - you know her? Naw, probably not,” she determined before Phryne could answer. “Nice girl, I look out for her a bit now her mum’s gone. I was witness for her. She married the grocer, you know. A bit above her station, and good for her.” Elsie looked around and lowered her voice. “Just between you and me, I think she’s in the family way, but that grocer’s over the moon for her so I don’t imagine it’ll be a problem in the end.”

Phryne nodded absently, still trying to suss out the point of Elsie’s story and ascertain just why the other woman was currently sitting in her parlour. Phryne was fairly certain the other shoe was about to drop and she wanted to be prepared when it did. 

“Anyway, while I was there I noticed an interestin’ bit of information on the public notice board concerning you and Jack Robinson.”

And with that, the proverbial Mary Jane hit the floor with a thud.

“Ah,” Phryne said, “I see. I take it he finally got around to posting the banns.”

Elsie nodded, and opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again when Mr Butler entered the room with the tea things. He placed the tray - piled high with sandwiches and biscuits and scones - between the two women, and poured them each a cup of tea. Elsie looked at the tray, and the beautiful cups, and Mr Butler, and finally the opulent room they were sat in and remarked dryly, “Well, I’ll say this much - you’re not marryin’ him for his money.”

Mr Butler, ever the professional, merely raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch at the comment before retreating from the room once more.

When the women were once again alone, Phryne picked up a tea cup and the thread of the conversation. “Which, I suppose, raises the the question of why I _am_ marrying him.”

Elsie grabbed a biscuit from the tray, shrugged noncommittally, and tilted her head in a move so reminiscent of Jack it made Phryne blink in surprise. Elsie took a bite of the biscuit and gave an appreciative hum. “These are good, you know?”

Phryne nodded and took another sip. “I expect I’m marrying him for the same reasons most people get married,” she said vaguely, answering her own question as Elsie didn’t seem to be in a direct mood.

“Yeahhhh,” Elsie said, stretching out the word like a kid with chewing gum, “but you’re not most people, are ya?”

Phryne raised an eyebrow and cocked her head in silent agreement. “But we do love each other, Elsie. I fail to see why this is so surprising.”

“Well it’s the timing, innit? I mean, you’ve been in love for years. Least I assume so, the way you act around each other. I’ve been down in the cells on quite a few occasions, and let me tell ya - you two aren’t nearly as subtle as you think.” She finished off her biscuit and picked up her tea. “So… why now? You, uh, in trouble?”

Phryne narrowed her eyes at the directness of the statement and took a steadying breath before replying. “No, but thank you for assuming the only reason Jack would marry me was if he felt an obligation to do so.”

Elsie waved her teacup in the air as if dispelling the notion, spilling a drop of her tea in the process. “Oh no, you misunderstand. I know why _he’s_ marryin’ _you_. Jackie likes to play at bein’ serious and unreadable, but the poor lad wears his heart on his sleeve. Always has, if you know how to look. He’s marryin’ you because he’s been in love with you for ages, and to him that’s what you do when you love someone.” Elsie took a sip of her tea and looked at Phryne pointedly. “But you… you don’t strike me as the marryin’ kind, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne pursed her lips and considered her response. She didn’t appreciate the appraisal, even if the other woman wasn’t _entirely_ wrong. “I really don’t see how this is any of your business, Elsie.” 

Elsie took another biscuit and once again ignored Phryne's comment. “I ever tell you about Matty’s dad? He was a good man, and lord knows I loved him, but he had the wanderin’ spirit. You know the type? Always lookin’ for the next adventure. And don’t get me wrong, it was fun. Excitin’ even. For a while. But it can be hard, you know, on those left behind. Until the wanderers come back. Harder still if they don’t. Either they get dead or bored and then who’s left to pick up the pieces?” Elsie regarded Phryne over her teacup with a critical eye.

“I’ve known Jack Robinson a long time. And I’ve seen him a lot of different ways. Boyish and carefree before the War, haunted and skittish after. Angry when his mates got sacked, devastated when he lost his mum. But underneath it all he was always still ‘Jack.’ Kind, funny, decent Jack. But, you know, a few years back, when things really started going bad with his missus - his first missus… well, I was real worried then. There was a… a cold politeness under it all. No humor. No warmth. Wasn’t sure my Jack was in there anymore.”

“But he was,” Phryne reminded her.

“And I’ve never been so pleased to be set straight,” Elsie remarked. “But you… what’s the expression they keep using about politicians in the papers? The bigger they are, the...?” 

“The harder they fall,” Phryne finished.

“Exactly. Jackie’s feelings for you are big - bigger, I think, than for anyone else ever had the opportunity to let him down. Things start goin’ bad with you and I’m afraid I won’t be set straight twice. And you, Miss Fisher, you’ve got a wanderin’ spirit.”

And suddenly Phryne understood with brilliant clarity why Elsie was in her parlour. “You want to make sure I’m serious about Jack,” she said. “That I won’t abandon him.”

Elsie took a long look at her, then nodded in confirmation.

“You seem like a nice enough lady, but marriage to a man like Jack, especially after what he’s been through… Well, all I’m saying is you better be in it for life. Otherwise…” Elsie trailed off, and Phryne softened; it was hard to be upset with someone who loved so well the person you loved too.

“I’m the practical kind,” she finally said, and Elsie looked at her in confusion.

“’Scuse me?” she asked.

“You said I’m not the marrying kind, and you’re not wrong. But I am the practical kind. And I know, practically, that if I want to live with Jack, I need to marry Jack. His career couldn’t survive any other way. And I want to live with Jack,” she said simply.

“Why?” Elsie asked.

_Well_ , Phryne thought, _in for a penny, in for a pound._

“Well, aside from the obvious prurient reasons,” she said - and to her credit, Elsie didn’t even blink, let alone blush - “I… just want him around. When I read a funny passage in a novel, or hear a marvelous new record, or I get a bit of good news from my daughter, the first person I want to share that with is Jack. And when he’s not here… I notice. And I miss him. As to why _now_ …” Phryne shrugged her shoulders and raised a hand in a vague sort of gesture before continuing.

“It’s really nothing earth-shattering, Elsie - and I’m sorry to disappoint you if you were hoping for a more exciting story - but… well, a couple of months ago I woke up one morning having had the oddest dream. I rolled over to tell Jack, and he wasn’t here, he was at his house.” Phryne rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of the confession and fidgeted with her pin slightly before continuing. 

“So, in that moment, I decided that was unacceptable. I wanted to tell him about my dream, and I knew that I would always want to tell him about my dreams, and when I put my mind to something I generally get what I want. So, being practical _and_ determined, I decided that though I might not be the marrying kind, it turns out I am the _marrying Jack Robinson_ kind and, well, there you have it.”

Phryne grabbed a biscuit and took a big bite, practically daring Elsie to contradict her. Really, this was absurd. How an old woman she barely knew could make her feel so… _flustered_ was beyond her and she didn’t care for it one bit. And the stupid biscuit was doing nothing to appease the butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in her stomach.

Elsie, however, was not flustered in the slightest. She took a sip of her tea, and remarked, “Always?”

“I’m sorry?” Phryne asked, swallowing the last bite of her biscuit and trying to follow the shift in conversation.

“You’ll _always_ wanna tell him ‘bout your dreams? You sure about that?”

The notion that Phryne would treat something so important as a lark stopped the butterflies mid-flight. Her nerves calmed and she frowned, putting down her cup and leveling a look at the other woman that was much more her style than nerves had ever been. “Elsie, I appreciate that you are looking out for Jack, but I assure you, I’ve never been cavalier about his affections, and I would not have suggested marriage if I wasn’t sure I wanted forever. Jack and I are…” Phryne struggled to come up with an appropriate analogy and finally landed on friendship. It was where she and Jack had begun after all and just felt right. 

“I have this friend,” she began, “Mac. And she and I have been friends for, well, forever. And over the years, we’ve spent a lot of time apart, but that has never changed our friendship. And we can still spend months apart, but when we see each other again, it’s as though no time at all has passed. We just… understand each other. And I love that. I love _her_. Always. And when I stepped off that boat from England and saw Jack again, it was the same feeling.” She leaned forward in her chair a bit and regarded the other woman seriously. 

“Elsie, experience has taught me that circumstances change, but experience has also shown me the way we feel about someone doesn’t have to. I want to be with Jack. So if I feel the need to go off on an adventure, I’ll take Jack with me. And if he can’t come, I’ll bring the adventure to him. I promise you, I’m very good at it.”

Elsie snorted knowingly and Phryne suddenly realized that Jack had probably shared stories about her with Elsie. Of course he had. She was clearly important to him. Phryne continued.

“And I realize that may seem a… _minor_ reason to make such a major decision, but the truth is Jack and I worked out all the important things years ago. This is just… paperwork. Does that answer your question?”

Elsie regarded her with sharp eyes, softer than they had been when she walked in, but no less keen. “It does, thank you. Life turns on a pin, but it can be a sharp sting if you land wrong. Wouldn’t want that for Jackie.”

Phryne smiled, picking her tea cup up once more to finish her drink. Elsie did the same, draining the cup and then placing it back on the tray.

“Hope I didn’t offend, it’s just…” Elsie shrugged and rubbed her hands together, appearing slightly nervous now that her mission was complete and the sheer nerve that had clearly pushed her through was no longer necessary. “Well, like I said, his mum isn’t around anymore, and I just thought someone oughta look out for him. Even if I’m all he’s got, at least he’s got somethin’, right?”

Phryne reached across the table to still the other woman’s hands, squeezing them as a sudden wave of affection rushed over her for this woman's bravery. It took a strong soul to grill Phryne Fisher in her own home, and that she had done it for Jack… well, bonds were forged every day over less worthy commonalities. “Elsie, if he has you, I think he has quite a lot.”

Elsie nodded and stood, and when Phryne did the same, Elsie gave her a hug. Then she turned back to the tray and grabbed a few scones, putting them in her pockets. “For the road,” she explained and Phryne smiled and nodded.

Elsie turned to go then, but Phyne stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

“Elsie, wait,” she said, coming to a decision. “We’re not having a real ceremony - just witnesses and the registrar - but afterwards we’ll be having a small luncheon here. Would… would you come? Perhaps you could even make your pie floaters?”

“You want pie floaters?” Elsie asked incredulously. “At a fancy do?”

“I want Jack to be happy,” Phryne said, and Elsie nodded.

“Then I’ll be there,” she promised. Phryne was just handing the older woman a card with the details when the lock turned in the front door and Jack stepped through. 

“Phryne,” he called, putting his hat on its appointed peg and shrugging out of his coat to give it the same treatment. “Are you home, love? I actually finished on time today and I thought - ”

Phryne could tell that whatever Jack had thought was lost the moment he took in the sight of Elsie Tizzard standing in her parlour, watching him. For a long moment he just stood there, mouth agape, quite uncertain how to process the image before him.

Elsie was having none of it.

“Close your mouth, Jackie boy, you’ll catch flies,” she said, walking over to where he stood and grabbing her hat off the peg. That seemed to snap Jack out of his trance; he shook his head ever so slightly to bring himself back to the moment completely.

“Uh, hello, Else. What brings you to Miss Fisher’s?” he asked, far too casually, given the state of his face a moment before.

“Oh, you know,” she said, putting on her coat, “decorating tips. I’m thinking of redoing my place in the style of, er…” she looked to Phryne for assistance.

“Italianate architecture,” Phryne supplied helpfully.

“Yeah, yeah, that,” she said with a wink. Then she turned and gave Jack a hug, which clearly took him by as much surprise as her presence had moments before, though he was quick to return the gesture. 

“You take care, Jackie boy, you take care.” And then she was gone, leaving a stunned Jack and a smiling Phryne in her wake.

“What,” Jack began, “was that all about?”

“You heard the lady,” Phryne said, walking over to him and taking hold of his lapels. “Italianate architecture.” Then she looked into his eyes and cocked her head to the side, a move Jack was well familiar with. 

Resting his hands on her hips, he asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“Kindred spirits,” she responded.

“Who, you and Elsie?” he asked, surprised. Phryne just smiled enigmatically. “You and me?” An elegant shrug of an elegant shoulder. “Me and Elsie?”

Phryne laughed and looped her arms around his neck. “Why choose, darling? With so many possibilities, just be grateful.” Then she kissed him, sweetly, before pulling back again. “I know I am.”

“Me too,” he assured her.

“Good. You know, Jack, you’re very lucky Elsie’s on your team,” Phryne said, playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck in the way she knew he liked.

He looked at her then, so intensely she forgot for a second to breathe. “I have an _excellent_ team, Miss Fisher, and I am very, very lucky,” he said sincerely. Then he smiled, just a little at the edges of his mouth, and pulled her closer. “And I do have the rest of the day free. Any chance I could get luckier?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally, though she was already stepping back and towards the stairs. “Let’s go upstairs and find out.” When she hit the landing, though, she turned and regarded Jack, who was following three steps behind.

“Oh, and darling? Try not to drop the darbys this time?”

Then, with a wink, she was up the stairs and gone.

Jack shook his head and followed her.

Very, very lucky indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsie Tizzard is one of my very favorite one-shot characters on the show. Despite having _criminally_ few scenes, she is incredibly memorable and completely charming. Plus, Jack’s regard for her is just lovely. So I truly hope I have done her “bloomin justice” in this story. :-)
> 
> A pie floater is an Australian dish, commonly consisting of a traditional Australian-style meat pie in a bowl of thick pea soup. It is often self-garnished with tomato sauce, and any number of other ingredients according to personal preference. It is, as far as I can tell, comfort food.
> 
> Personal Note:  
> Back in January, having just finished my first Ficathon (my first two stories for this or any fandom _ever_ ), I challenged myself to participate in, and ideally complete, Miss Fisher's Year of Quotes. I expected/hoped that by the end of December 2018 I would have a total of 14 stories under my belt. That seemed manageable, if ambitious. Instead, this is my 26th story (though frankly I have my doubts as to whether or not _The Very Hungry Inspector_ counts).
> 
> Thank you so very much to this community of writers and readers which has inspired, challenged, and welcomed me in 2018.
> 
> Looking forward to all the many exciting things MFMM has in store for 2019.
> 
> Wishing you all (a little early, but who’s counting) a very Happy New Year!


End file.
